Dawn of the Peacock
by Hugs6
Summary: Hera isn't done.


**Prologue (Lainey's bit):**

**I am training to be the camp's scribe, which is why they gave me this story for me to write down. First, I must introduce the characters I suppose.**

**There is, to start, temperamental Chris, son of Ares, whose anger causes him to strike down ANYONE who opposes him, and hasn't known what it's like to work as a team since his little brother… Died.**

**We have Will, son of Hecate, with the ability to pull the perfect weapon out of thin air, and who has a little boy crush on the one other member of the team, Vivian.**

**She'd been at camp for a long time, dreaming of a chance to get out and show the camp her worth, that she wasn't just another thieving child of Hermes. That she had worth.**

**And me? I wasn't there, I can't say that I was. But I promise you the most vividly true account of the three's tale as possible.**

**And that's all I can promise.**

* * *

-Chris-

I'm a ticked off time bomb waiting to explode, but lets clear things up first, none of this is anyone's fault except my dad's. My _FIRST_ dad. The one I don't remember, because he left when before Marc was born. I was two when my little brother was born, so I can't remember my dad. I'd like to say I'm mad at Marc, for dying, or mad at mom, for not making the doctor's save him, or maybe I'd be made at the car that hit the one he was in. But I'm not mad at any of them, none of them. I'm mad at my dad.

I tell myself, I don't believe it, but I tell myself, if Dad had stayed my brother would me alive. And things that happened when you're was nine are hard to get out of your head when you turn, say, I don't know, 14.

I've spent a safe amount of time yelling at people who think that talking about any of it will make it better. I've spent a more insecure amount of time beating up people who try to drag my feelings out of me. I will only admit one of my feelings for people like them, and that feeling is anger.

Mom thought I had a void in my soul, she said she would get it filled and I wouldn't feel empty anymore but I STILL FEEL EMPTY, and a new step dad and 9 new step siblings DOESN'T HELP. None of them get what its like to lose one sibling, nine more won't help. Nothing helps. Nothing. The only thing that would come CLOSE to helping is if my brother came back from the dead, if I could celebrate my brother's 12th birthday. Instead, we eat a rushed fast food meal and head to one of my new "little sister's" ballet performance.

Some birthday this is for Marc.

My step dad thinks I'm in denial. That I still haven't completely realized that my brother is dead. He tries to talk to me too, but it just doesn't help. He's been married twice before, both wives died. He blames himself for their deaths, still dwells on those deaths, why can't I dwell on the death of my closest friend?!

At night, I climb out on the roof. Sometimes I think about jumping, mostly I just think that everything would be different if my dad was still here. I remember that he got angry, but never at me, but that's all I remember. And I remember he and I walking, his hands were big. I can't decide if these memories make me happy, sad, or angry. I cry anyway.

If anyone knew, I'd have to beat them up.

If I wanted to believe things would get better I would, but it would be lie. Now I do think my step dad is a jinx or a curse. Now I do believe that the deaths of his first two wives were his fault.

He killed my mom. I believe that most of all.

Why'd it have to be another car wreck? I swear, SWEAR I'm never getting back in a car. Never. Never. Never. Not even to go to the funeral. I don't want to go to her funeral. I don't want to dress up just so I can stare at my mom in a casket the whole time and think about how it had happened with Marc. Why is it always the driver survives? Marc was in the passenger seat, he wasn't supposed to be, he was only seven. But he was anyway. Mom's car went off the side of a hilly road and flipped. The driver barely survived, mom did not. But I can't go to her funeral, I can't stare at her coffin and feel bad at myself and maybe even cry a little, a lot. I can barely drag myself out of bed, or take a shower or get out of the pajamas I've been wearing since I found out that she died. It was late at night. She was dead when the ambulance got there. I wouldn't have had a chance to say good bye anyway.

And the blankets are so nice…

"Chris, there's someone here to see you." My step dad told me, after my first small step back into the real world. I'd gotten up, ate breakfast, got dressed and stuff, and gone back to my room.

"I don't want to see anybody."

"They say its really important."

"Fine, but send them in because I'm not coming out again."

"That's fine." My visitor was sent in, a man with long pants in the middle of summer, and ridiculous shoes, and a ridiculous hat, a goatee, and long, curly hair.

"Chris, you're special." I was sitting on my bed, legs pulled up to my chest.

"I don't want to hear any junk about me being special! Don't you think I've heard enough of that! NO ONE GETS IT! NO ONE! I don't want to be special!" I just want my family to be alive, I added in my head.

"You're a bit more special then that. You've heard of the Greek gods of course, right?"  
"Yeah." I try not to glance at the book on them on my side table. It's hard to read because I'm dyslexic, but I'd been stumbling over it anyway because it was my mom's favorite book.

"You're the child of one."

"No, my father, my father left… He left before Marc…"

"Chris, I know all about Marc and your mom and your so called anger issues, and I know who your dad is."

"George Ransom…" I mumble, because that's my step dad' name.

"Your real dad."

"Gone, probably dead. He doesn't deserve me anyway, he's a jerk, if he hadn't left Marc would still be alive, MOM would still be alive…" I don't know why I'm telling this man the lies I made up for myself, but what he's saying can't be true, I won't let it. My reality and his, his, he's probably insane, twisted reality, well, our separate realities have to stay that, separate, or I won't be able to stand it.

"Your father is Ares, god of war, Mars in roman." My memories, my few, vague memories of them, feel like they make since now, but they also feel fake.

"Did my mom know?"

"Yes. Chris, there is a camp for kids who are children of gods, its name is Camp Half blood, and I want you to accompany me back there."

"Are you a child of a god?"

"I'm a satyr." He kicked of a shoe and I saw a hoof, about to faint. Then I understood everything.

"Oh, I get it, none of this is real, I'm insane, and you're taking me to a mental ward."  
"That's not the case."

"As long as we don't have to travel by car."

"How does a flying Pegasus sound?"


End file.
